


soot and tie

by Tav



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Just for Laughs, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29715099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: A cat, of all things, brings a fireman and a comedian together.
Relationships: Brian "Q" Quinn/Sal Vulcano
Comments: 20
Kudos: 14





	1. Meet Q

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally just scribbling and chuckling this down every time I get a moment to myself at work....  
> .

Brian had dreamed about this his whole life. A dream that derived from his clichéd juvenile determination to be a real life superhero. But as his voice broke and testicles furred, capes and catch-phrases quickly turned into a badge and a gun. After witnessing a man in a hardhat carry a little girl out of a burning building moments before it collapse, the badge and gun morphed themselves into ladders and hoses. And so even though his dream lacked thorough consistency, the initial aspiration remained – Brian Q Quinn was going to save lives.

Brian didn’t cut any corners. He lived for the daily strain that studying and training put on his body and mind. He never shied away from being the _know-it-all_ and took pride in the taunting he received from disgruntled peers who were almost but never quite as good as him. So by the time he’d aced his final exam, topped all evaluations and obliterated his last interview, Brian had done it.

He was ready to rush into buildings that everyone else was running out of. He was eager to kick down blackened doors and scale roasting buildings. He was prepared to not return home to his cats if the fire ever won. What he wasn’t prepared for was being assigned to the deadest department in the deadest neighbourhood on an already partially dead landmass. Some days the desire for some sort of emergency messed with Brian’s mind. He felt subconsciously sadistic and spent sleepless nights inwardly punishing himself for being at war with such peace. But seven years were six too many, adequately enough to justify the slow loss of his sanity. 

This is why on the rarest of rare days when the fire alarm sounds, Brian’s colleagues are no longer shocked by the menacing smile that splits his face. They pay little attention to the mops dropped and the deck of cards kicked over as Brian practically skips into gear like a child to a Christmas tree. This is why when the screaming truck rounds the corner and reaches the top of the hill, Brain’s colleagues instinctively cringe at the lack of fire at house number 17A.

As always it takes Brian longer than the rest to come to terms with the fact that there is no real emergency. Almost as if he refuses to let go of the fact that lives aren’t in danger, Brian is off the truck before it comes to a full stop, chiefly commands only slightly muffled by the SCBA on his face. The bewildered man in a robe on the porch seems emergency enough for Brian to follow protocol.

“You gotta be kidding me,” the man says, eyes rounded with genuine shock. Brian takes this as a good sign. “If you guys don’t start stripping I’m gonna shoot my neighbour.”

“Are you okay, Sir?” Brian’s hand instinctively hooks around the shorter man’s elbow as he guides him away from the front door. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

“Would you relax,” the man frowns, tugging his arm away, “there is no fire.”

“You made a false call,” Brian feels deflated, angry for more reasons than he can count.

“I didn’t call anyone!”

“I called you,” Brian turns to see Joe standing at the edge of the yard as if he’s aware that one foot on the immaculate grass would be considered trespassing. Joe who is also in a robe but lacks the decency to tie it closed. Joe who is shamelessly digging into a large bowl of colourful sugar cereal as if watching to two of them is a binge worthy Netflix show. Joe shrugs, not bothering to swallow before speaking again. “I saw smoke. Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

“Are you spying on me again?” Brian looks from his long-time friend to the stranger beside him, the stranger who he only just registers is possibly the new home-owner of the house that is too big and too beautiful to stay _for sale_ for longer than a week.

“I heard a scream,” Joe says accusingly as if insulted by the fact that his new neighbour is not grateful. “I saw smoke. I did what any red blooded American would do.” 

“There was a cat,” the man says exasperatedly.

“You burnt a cat?” Joe questions.

“No, I was screaming because of the c-,” Brian watches as the man looks between him and Joe as if debating whether or not honesty is the right way to go. “Some strange cat keeps coming into my window and I was chasing it and I knocked over some candles and-”

“So there _is_ a fire?” Brian asks, genuinely a tiny bit more excited.

“Wait, hang on,” Joe shakes his head as if to clear it. “You light candles in the day.”

“They’re aroma therapy candles,” he defends himself, “not that it’s any of your business.”

“Sir, is there a fire or not?”

“Is there a fire?” Brian sighs when Murr joins the already overcrowded conversation. And Brian wonders when James decided to take up jogging as his ferret looking friend runs on the spot beside Joe in distractingly high shorts and two fingers to the pulse on his neck. Everything is sparklingly new from the too white sneakers to the ridiculously outdated headband that makes him look more like a 60’s tennis player than a runner. The clothes are new, the hobby is new, and that could only mean one thing.

“New girlfriend?” both Brian and Joe ask in perfect unison.

“Well,” Murr smiles from ear to ear as he drags out the word unnecessarily long. It’s the kind of boyish giddiness that immediately makes Brian regret asking.

“I’m in a freakin’ twilight zone,” the new guy shakes his head in a clear display of disbelief as he acknowledges Brian’s, Joe’s and Murr’s unspoken yet unmistakable bond.

“ _You’re_ in a twilight zone,” Joe raises both eyebrows comically, “we just got a new neighbour who thinks burning stray cats is therapeutic.”

“You’re certifiable, you know that,” the new homeowner says and Brian laughs, only because Joe bows triumphantly at the insult.

“You burn stray cats?” Murr goes by what Joe says because Joe is horrifically convincing all the time. Even in an open robe and silk boxers, wearing what Brian is certain are his wife’s slippers, Joe could convince an Eskimo that ice is fire. 

“I’m so not entertaining this,” the stranger waves his hand between the empty space between all four of them. Then he points at Murr and adds, “-by the way, people who wear fitness trackers should be shot.”

“Can I at least come in and get the cat?” Brian asks, seconds before the front door is slammed in all of their faces. 


	2. Meet Sal

Sal was once a stand up stand-up comedian. He had dreamed about being one his entire life. It was a dream that derived from his first encounter with a man with oversized shoes and a big red nose who did fancy things with balloons. But as his voice broke and testicles furred, colourful wigs and painted smiles quickly turned into a top hat with a white bunny in it and an influenced deck of cards. After being snuck into a Lenny Clarke show one night when his babysitter won tickets she couldn’t pass up, the bunny and cards morphed themselves into a stage and a microphone. And so even though his dream lacked thorough consistency, the initial aspiration remained – Sal Vulcano was going to bring people joy. 

Sal didn’t cut any corners. Comedians weren’t just humorous, they were smart and current and thought quicker than most. And so when Sal wasn’t living in the library he was binge watching CNN. He never shied away from a school talent show and took pride in the taunting he received from disgruntled peers whose singing or dancing or violin recitals failed to outdo his comedy routines . So by the time he’d booked his first real live show in a stadium that was way bigger and cleaner and fuller than a corner street café, Sal had done it. 

He was ready to be more than just an opening act for a household name. He was eager to be challenged by the funniest and roast them right back. He was prepared to travel the country running on nothing but energy drinks and pure fear. What he wasn’t prepared for was the devastation that could follow a single ill-timed joke. Sal was well aware that although countless laughed themselves to tears at every punchline, he’d never get away with a single one without deeply offending a handful. He was no stranger to harsh criticism or four stars too little of his desired rating. But never before had one of his closers been so offensive that it angered enough followers to force him to flee. 

That’s the only reason why Sal is here. That’s why he left his gorgeous studio apartment at The Max to cower away in the undemanding confines of the one place he swore he’d never return to. And even though it is arguably the best house he’s ever lived in and Staten Island will always smell like home, it still reminds Sal of everything he was before his face became a regular on Comedy Central. All the high school bullies and gum in his hair. The delivery job that paid too little and took him to sleazy corners at scary hours. Every failed attempt at love that left him feeling unlovable at far too young an age. Sal was convinced he would never return and the fact that he was never shy about publicly broadcasting that controversial bit of information is the why it’s the most logical place for him to hibernate. 

Not even his father knows Sal is back yet. 

He specifically chose this house because it’s high up on a hill preceded by sharp curves that are fringed with forestry so dense that it would scare most into making a cowardly U-turn before reaching the summit. It opens up to a quiet neighborhood, large houses all facing each other in a perfect teardrop loop that makes all the buildings seem like one architectural structure as opposed to the seven that they are. It’s cozy and private and none of his neighbors seem to know who he is and Sal is convinced it’s the perfect place. Perfect save for one thing. One round bellied, big eyed, spiky haired thing that won’t seem to leave him alone. 

Sal peers out his window watching his neighbour shamelessly surveying his new house. With a fluffy white canine on the end of a leash in one hand and a donut in the other, the man is one pair of binoculars away from being a skilled psychopath as he drags his feet along the sidewalk. It would be immoral calling it walking the dog since the ground he’s covered in five minutes could very easily be leaped by a child, but what annoys Sal the most is how the little pooch seems completely adapted to its master’s disinterest in actually getting anywhere. 

When Crazy Donut, Doggy Man is joined by Mr. Fitness Tracker, it only takes a few chatty seconds of him running in place before he too looks over at Sal’s house. Sal immediately ducks out of sight when their eyes seem to spot Sal’s exact location even behind the heavy laced barricade. And Sal feels all kinds of idiotic for such an unnecessary knee-jerk reaction as he crawls to his bed so as not to even permit them a glimpse of his silhouette. But before Sal can reach it, he comes face to face with someone else also on all fours prowling around in his bedroom. 

The cat meows. 

Sal screams. 

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.


	3. Vulcano Eruption

“Don’t tell me,” Brian is more than shocked when he’s dragged into the house the second the door swings open before his knuckles barely touch wood twice, “more cats?”

“No,” Sal shudders as if only _just_ realizing the fact and said comprehension is enough to stir up true terror, “it’s the same little shit and it’s in my room. The bastard’s probably been watching me sleep.”

“I gotta admit,” Brian chuckles as Sal pushes him up the stairs using Brian’s larger frame as the perfect riot shield, “I wasn’t expecting being summoned to your boudoir so soon but like hell if you’ll ever hear me complain.”

“Keep talking and I’ll call animal control to remove you too.” Sal rolls his eyes dramatically. And as if just noticing what he’s doing, he releases the grip he’d had on Brian’s waist and wraps his arms around himself instead. And Brian notices the formally pale appearance quickly tint red high on his cheeks and the pointy tips of his ears. “Why did they call _you_ anyway?” 

“It’s a small world here,” Brian shrugs, “the butcher sometimes bakes, the postman sometimes sews.” _I sometimes have friends who’ll stop at nothing to see me get laid_ , Brian wisely leaves out.

And Brian can’t pretend his friends are entirely wrong. He can’t act as though this new menace is a menace at all. He has pretty eyes that look as though they’d sparkle if he ever smiled. His teeth are long but not even slightly unappealing, like a straight line would be as awkward as drenches on a shark His frustration is practically calming, downright necessary. He looks like a hugger and even if he isn’t one, Brian can picture holding him long enough for Sal to mold into a perfect fit. Simply put, he’s downright annoyingly adorable.

His name is Salvatore, Brian had double checked before flicking the letter back into the mailbox on his way in. The earlier phone call demanding emergency assistance due to a menacing scream had been anonymous, but the unmistakable snickers from two of his best friends rendered the pathetic attempt at changing their voices pointless. Brian had only seen Mr Salvatore Edward Anthony Vulcano once and it was already too many times too few for his liking. Ever since Brian gave into the joys of flirting with boys, Brian has had a soft spot for the stubborn ones. Without even knowing Sal past his obvious Ailurophobia, he could tell that Sal could give any mule a run for its money.

There’s no doubt, he is anal-retentive and harvests some sort of cleaning obsessive compulsive disorder. Brian’s work boots feel as though they are staining the carpeted staircase regardless of how clean they are themselves. The house has been occupied for nearly 3 days yet feels perfectly lived in with not a single moving box in sight. And though it feels occupied, the dark woods and it’s somewhat intimidating decor has Brian certain Sal would kill the child who accidentally spilled milk on his black onyx flooring.

Sal himself is as polished as his house. He smells shamelessly clean yet darkly amazing. There isn’t a single hair out of place on his head of thick, luscious locks that Brian wants to drown his fingers in. Brian can’t decide whether he prefers the robe that left next to nothing to the imagination or these many layers of black and denim and scarf that are begging to be peeled off slowly one by one. Brian assumes that Sal was on his way out before the cat changed his plans. Brian Q Quin is really starting to love this cat. 

Then as if to further stress what Brian’s already recognized about Salvatore’s controlling nature, the second he enters Sal’s bedroom, Sal shuts Brian inside and himself out.

“There’s a sword mounted on the wall to your right,” Sal shouts from the safety of the other side of door, “just make sure your hands are clean if you use it. It’s an original from the set of POTC.”

“There’re about twenty things wrong with that sentence,” Brian doesn’t think twice before dropping himself onto the king-sized bed in the center of what could’ve been mistaken for a teenage boy’s room were it not so chi-chi too. Brian had expected grace and diamond-cut corners much like the rest of the house. Instead, the walls are decorated with autographed memorabilia of The Knicks, John Starks and Patrick Ewing easily being Sal’s predominant adoration. The Breaking Bad posters are only outnumbered by the t-shirts and the way they’re strung up make Brian wonder if Sal has or ever will actually use them for their intended purpose. The only thing more shocking than the WWE duvet he’s making imaginary snow angels on are the many photographs of Salvatore Edward Anthony Vulcano with celebrities. Sal Vulcano looking nothing like a fan and everything like a colleague. Like he belongs on the Comedy Central stage or Hollywood red carpet or sipping colorful drinks in the back of that limo. And Brian blames his lacking knowledge of Sal’s fame on his own inability to watch anything that wasn’t once a comic book. Not to mention his natural disinterest in actual television altogether.

Suddenly knowing that Sal is famous makes his stubbornness seem less engaging and more like sulky entitlement. Suddenly Brian is certain that Sal’s eye colour is an expensive blend and he feels stupid for ever believing such an arousing shade could be a God-given gift. Suddenly Sal’s inability to remove his unwanted guest himself isn’t due to any type of phobia or fear. And when Sal peaks into the room just as Brian is making his way out, Brian is suddenly reminded of why he hadn’t given anyone his friends had attempted to match him with a chance in over a decade.

“Did you get it?” Sal asks hopefully, and what would’ve sounded like sweet enthusiasm is now just as annoying as being a firefighter with nothing to combat.

“It’s just a cat,” Brian says as he descends the stairs two at a time without looking back. “Grow a pair.”

And with that, Brian is gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sal most definitely is not a cliché, especially not the unfortunate weakness of having any kind of desire most have for men in uniform. In fact, Sal has no desire for men in general at all. He’d made one mistake in the past, one that had felt physically right in that moment yet socially wrong at the dinner table that very same day. And so Sal chose to go with the latter. It wasn’t as though he thought it immoral for anyone else to partake in it, it was simply just illogical for him. Sal is the product of the strongest man he knows and protector of his sisters and one so easily subjected to prejudice that he simply can’t enjoy certain things. Certain temptations like admiring a certain fireman. 

The first time Sal met him, he was wearing one of those fireman masks that made him look as though he was ready for an apocalypse. Although Sal already hated who had called the department and loathed that particular man’s reason for coming there, Sal couldn’t deny the overpowering sensation of safety that came with being around someone like him. Sal knew the man was obligated to care, but it was still nice to feel it after so long. He knew the man was being paid to protect him, yet Sal felt no guilt allowing himself to wonder what it would feel like if it wasn’t his job to do so. 

Although full uniform was like a knight’s armor and the big red truck his stallion, Sal felt more contented when he showed up at the door alone in suspenders with a Jeep that sported the same logo as his t-shirt. His face had been obscured before yet Sal knew exactly who it was even before the fireman spoke. Sal is an expert on studying people with minimal material to work with. It’s a skill he adopted from years of mastering his craft. But Sal hadn’t expected the towering man to have such a gentle face. Although his jaw was covered in fur that looked prickly to the touch and his hair was dusted with silver, his smile gave him a rosy, childlike glow that made Sal sure he’d gotten away with far too much as a child.

Sal suspected this fireman was the type to drop everything to rescue a kitten from a tree. He saw no other reason why on both occasions, he was to only one to make an effort even though he’s certain he’d seen at least five more men in uniform after the first false alarm. This is why Sal can’t understand what changed the man’s mind so suddenly.

It really shouldn’t be bothering him. He shouldn’t be thinking about it. But after his comedic crash, the fireman is genuinely the first person who had gone out of their way to offer any sort of humanity towards him regardless of how standoffishly unprepared Sal was for it.

And so Sal can’t help but feel as if he’s lost something and can’t stop wondering why.

“Can I help you, Sir?” a very enthusiastic man asks and Sal remembers where he is. Due to no help from the man who somehow became his last resort immediately after becoming his first, Sal is down town in a shockingly grey store called _Rat’s All Folks Exterminators_. Sal loathes punny store names.

“Yes, actually.” Sal turns with an overly complicated looking mousetrap in his hand. “I was wondering if you have one of these in cat size?”

And then Sal’s obligatory polite façade falls away the second the smile on the other man’s face grows.

“Neighbor,” he beams a bit too brightly, looking far too much like an elderly toddler up close.

“Hi. I almost didn’t recognize you standing still,” Sal forces out, sarcastic joy dripping from his jaw that doesn’t seem to hinder _Murr’s_ enthusiasm in the least. Sal has to look at the nametag one more time to make sure he got it right because surely that can’t be his full name. He can’t believe he actually wants to ask, but something pressing catches his attention. “Look, no offence to you or your family here at –” Sal can’t bring himself to repeat such a stupid name, “-your family here. But, you’re a shop assistant, how the hell can you afford your-”

Sal is so glad he doesn’t have to finish the sentence due to Murr’s burst of laughter. Because even though Murr and his big bellied accomplice have been intrusively rude to him, there are some lines that Sal simply won’t cross. But Sal has seen Murr’s house and seen Murr’s cars and seen delivery trucks and men cart in more appliances than most people order takeout. And so Sal is understandably perplexed.

“I don’t really work here,” Murr says in an overly secretive manner, completely unnecessary considering how they are literally the only two people in the store. “I’m a writer. You might have read my best-sellin-”

“No.”

“Well, it’s called-”

“No.”

“Anyway,” Murr continues, losing no momentum, “I’m working on a new novel and I’ve always found it easiest to write a character if I become the character. The owner was nice enough to let me work here for a couple of days so long as I thank them in the next -dare I jinx it-bestseller.”

“I’m gonna go now,” Sal places the item back on the shelf and turns to leave, “I hope you never decide to write about a prostitute.”

Even after Sal exits the building and the jingle stops, he swears he can still hear Murr’s infuriating laughter.

“Well look what the cat dragged out,” Sal’s neighbour isn’t smiling as he says it, but there’s an uncanny cheekiness on his face that makes it feel as though he’s grinning from ear to ear. Sal feels as though his day can’t possibly get any worse and then immediately retracts such wishful thinking when the man’s eyes move to the sign above the door Sal had just exited. “You know, if I had a rat problem I’d be embracing that burnt stray cat of yours.”

“Speaking of rodents,” Sal refuses to explain his prior illogical logic and points to the ball of fluff at the end of his neighbor's leash, “what the hell is that thing you always pretend to walk?”

“Biscotti?” the spiky haired man looks down lovingly and Sal is shocked that he has a facial expression other than _dear caught in headlights_ , “she’s my Bichon frise.”

“And just how hard did the guy at the pet shop laugh when you chose it,” Sal crosses his arms and arches a fascinated brow, feigning genuine interest.

“Technically, my wife and kids chose her,” he explains, unfazed, “but like most fury things, she latched herself onto me.”

Sal is convinced the only reason the mutt chooses him is because the man is always eating. He only just manages to hold back a gag when his neighbor bites into the greasiest and largest corn dog Sal has ever seen. Sal wants to make some sort of witty remark about the irony of eating and walking dogs at the same time, but something pressing catches his attention.

“Your wife and kids?”

“Yeah.”

“You have a wife?”

“Yeah.”

“A human wife and human kids?”

“Last time I checked.”

“So tell me this,” Sal narrows his eyes, “how is it that I can’t step foot out my front door without tripping over you yet I’ve never once seen this so called human family of yours.”

“Because I’m a good husband and amazing father,” he says this as if Sal is stupid for not knowing already. “I’ve taught them to avoid strange men.”

“I think we’re done here,” Sal concludes, wondering what had possessed him to even attempt a fake conversation with an obvious psychopath. He begins to step around the lunatic and be on his way but crazies are naturally unpredictable. Sal finds himself chest to chest with his neighbor, nothing but a greasy corn dog between them.

Before Sal can find the correct curse words to string together to stress just how many different forms of bodily harm he intends to inflict on him, his wide eyed neighbor is unapologetically wiping oil and crumbs off Sal’s shirt as if it’s something the two of them do every day. 

“That’s actually why I’m glad I bumped into you,” he only stops his pointless effort at cleaning Sal’s shirt when Sal finally slaps his hand away, still at loss for words, “I am having a little block party and I‘d really love it if you’d come. You could get to know everyone. You won’t be a stranger anymore. You can make some new frien-”

“I’m RSVPing no,” Sal is shocked he’s able to speak through such continuous shock.

“It’s tomorrow afternoon,” he speaks louder without pause as Sal manages to walk away without any further incidents. “It’s very caj, very outdoorsy, very Lifetime movie. You’ll love it.”

“Can’t love what I’m not attending,” Sal doesn’t know why he bothers shouting back. Then he quickly apologizes to a disapproving mother and scared looking daughter for the holler.

“I’ll put an invite in your mailbox,” the crazy man goes on. “I’m Joe by the way. Bring your own beer, cats optional.”

As Sal finally turns the corner he is seriously thinking about moving.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian most definitely is not a cliché, especially not the unfortunate weakness of believing in stupid things like love at first sight. Of course he’s had his fair share of one night stands, but those were driven purely by impulsive lust. Those happened years ago when his hair was long and dark and attractive people in bars would trip over themselves to bed him because they assumed he was a lead singer of some rock band they pretended to love. Those happened when hormones overrode rationality and Brian felt incapable of meaning anything to anyone because his desired path in life forced him to desensitize himself from certain attachments. Certain attachments like the inexplicable need he suddenly feels to be the knight in shining armor to Sal’s damsel in distress. 

It isn’t jealousy Brian feels towards people like Sal, he likes to call it _ease-envy._ It isn’t a pretty color on him yet hardly unjustifiable. Brian has worked tirelessly every day for everything he has and never complains about how little it still is. Although he hasn’t been in such situations as much as he’d like to have stories to tell about it, Brian _has_ stared death in the face and lived to nurse the burns. He _has_ saved lives and inspired younglings the same way he too was inspired by just such selfless men. Brian has made an oath to die for any stranger, a vow so strong that it’s become as unremarkable as remembering to breathe. And so some days, Brian feels he’s earned the right to be overly unimpressed when he witnesses boundless praise being dished out to an ordinary human being for delivering a few lines from a script they didn’t even write themselves. Earned the right to be irritated when masses trample men in uniform in order to touch someone solely due to the fact that their larynx muscles follow instructions a little bit better than the next persons. Earned the right to be furious when he hears stories of how his fellow badged brothers and sisters are barely making ends meet while certain names could end world hunger just for making a ten minute guest appearance on a barely known show.

And so yes, Brian’s reaction towards finding out that Sal is just another one of the over privileged was completely justifiable. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about what could’ve happened had he stayed to help Sal instead of letting fame be Sal's write-off. 

When Brian had arrived at Joe’s little block party, he’d been grateful that Joe had planned it around the time that Brian had those exceptionally rare two days off. Brian practically lived at the station, making mandatory rests at home to feed and pet and pamper his rescues. But apart from that, nothing even remotely ‘heartbeat worthy’ shook his mundane monotony and so Brian really appreciated an afternoon with a cold beer in hand surrounded by people who had real lives. Brian is sorely disappointed in himself by the fact that when they’re two hours into it and Sal walks in, it’s the first time it truly feels to him as though it’s finally a real party.

Still, Brian rolls his eyes purely on principal when Sal’s own pretty emerald orbs finally meet his hazels. Brian hadn’t asked Joe if Sal was coming, even refusing to admit it to himself that he’d wanted to inquire at all. But betraying butterflies do strange things in his stomach when the frustrating new comer wastes no time marching towards him the second he acknowledges Brian in Joe’s back yard. But before Sal can reach the comfortable little corner Brian procured for himself shortly after arriving, Joe ambushes Sal professionally. And Brian can’t help but chuckle because he knows that it’s a mix of genuine hospitality and Joe’s unforgiving inability to stop annoying _this_ man in particular.

“I knew you’d come,” Brian can’t believe Sal is actually allowing himself to be pulled into a hug by a shirtless and pool-water-drenched Joe. Brian guesses Sal’s failure to notice the horror playing out has ample to do with the petrified look on Sal’s face. A look of pure desperation he throws at Brian throughout and after the awkward embrace. A look so anxious that Brian feels as though he’s failing Sal by not being able to understand his exact issue even though any informed idiot could guess it must be cat-related. Brian’s smile falls away as he stands, firefighter constitution disallowing him to ignore a person in need of help. Even an overly needy, self-indulgent celebrity such as Sal. 

“Let’s just get outta here and sort this out once and for all,” Brian interrupts the two by way of greeting Sal. And he walks right past them, not bothering to see is Sal is following but knowing the other man will be stupid not to. Because although Brian’s words make it all sound final, he knows his demeanor punctuates said finality.

“I haven’t even introduced him to anyone yet,” Joe looks perplexed as Brian and Sal walk determinedly past guests, avoiding running children and chatty soccer moms. “At least let me introduce you to Larry. Where’s Larry?”

Brian ignores as Joe calls after a man he has yet to meet after years of Joe talking about how great the guy is. The sooner he can get the damn cat out of Sal’s life, the sooner Sal will be out of his. Because that most certainly _is_ what Brian wants. 

It doesn’t take a minute before the two of them are across the road and through the front door in what can only be described as awkwardly, deafening silence. It almost feels as though Sal is afraid that anything he says or does might cause Brian to leave again. And Brian suddenly feels as though he’s obligated to at least offer some sort of explanation for his complete irrationality and lack of commitment the previous day. When Brian faces Sal to do just that, he’s immediately shocked by what he finds.

Sal looks as though he has or is about to throw up and or faint. It’s the immediate conclusion Brian reaches as he takes in the clashes of pinks and grays on Sal’s face and the red tinted wetness lining his eyes. As if in some sort of trance, Sal doesn’t even object to Brian stopping him before either of them can climb the stairs. With both hands on Sal’s shoulders, Brian looks into Sal’s eyes, really searches them for the first time ever and is met with complete honesty. Sal really does have a crippling fear of cats. Sal really can’t handle any of this himself. Sal really, really does need Brian.

“Tell me something,” Brian offers a soft smile as his thumbs lightly massage through thin cotton and into rigid muscle, “that first time you found this cat and nearly burnt your house down trying to catch it-”

“I wasn’t chasing it I was running away from it,” Sal relents, clearly reading Brian’s mind. And Brian chuckles without mockery of any kind. It’s more a laugh at himself for ever doubting such obvious, raw fear.

“I’ll take care of it,” Brian reassures, relived that he remembered to say _it_ as opposed to _you_. Because with such vulnerability explicitly out on display, Brian can easily be fooled into thinking Sal wants him for more than just his unlisted cat extermination expertise.

“Be careful,” Sal says after Brian as if he’s going off to war instead of just up the stairs to wrestle a cat that, at this point, is obviously more terrified of Sal than Sal is of it. “It started making some really crazy sounds.”

And when Brian returns ten minutes later to find Sal nursing a bottle of water, he wants to suggest Sal change his choice of beverage to vodka.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Brian wisely pulls Sal down with him forcing them both to take a seat on the bottom of the stairs. Sal is looking around himself as if the cat may jump out at any moment. Brian has to hold Sal’s chin, forcing him to focus. “The good news is that it isn’t a demon cat. Those sounds you were hearing – that’s the bad news. She’s just given birth under your bed, I can’t move her.”

Brian cringes as he waits for his words to sink in. 


End file.
